


Prelude to Conversation

by helens78



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-20
Updated: 2003-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The good news is, Sean didn't say anything Viggo didn't want to hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude to Conversation

Sean stumbles out of the bedroom wearing a sweater that's at least two sizes too big for him. The sleeves hang down past his hands, and he tries to push them up; it doesn't work. His jeans are on, all but the last button done up, but he's barefoot. Mistake. He steps down on a pencil, snapping it in half, and jumps half a foot in the air, yelping.

At least the noise doesn't wake Viggo up. Viggo is still happily snoring on the couch, on his stomach, one foot hanging off the end of the couch, one arm at rest on the floor. He's in sweatpants and socks, but is bare from the waist up, and his skin is darker than Sean expected -- a warm gold, even in the dim light of the room.

Sean squints at Viggo and shakes his head. He walks over to Viggo and shifts papers around until there's a place for himself at Viggo's side.

 _Now what?_ Sean thinks. He suspects he owes Viggo an apology, or thanks, or maybe a six-pack and a few nights of whatever it is Viggo takes out in trade when he lets a friend sleep over. _I kicked him out of his own bed,_ Sean thinks, scratching fingers through his hair. _Not a friendly thing to do in the least._

Well, maybe it'll be easier to apologize while Viggo's still half-asleep. Maybe he can start working out the difference early -- maybe Viggo could use someone to take care of him in the morning. Breakfast. Coffee. Something. "Ehm -- Viggo? Vig?" Sean puts a tentative hand on Viggo's shoulder and shakes him a bit. "It's me."

"Mmrrr?" Viggo doesn't even bother blinking his eyes open. "Sean?" he asks.

"Yeah, Vig. It's Sean." Sean pulls back, getting his hand away from Viggo's skin. _Christ, he's warm_. "About last night. I'm sorry for being such a wanker. You should at least have made me sleep on the--"

"Sean -- _Sean_. It's too goddamned early to have anything resembling a serious discussion." Viggo does get his eyes open, now, and squints over at Sean. "You're wearing my sweater," he murmurs.

"Oh," Sean says. He looks down at his chest, then back up at Viggo. "Couldn't find my shirt. Sweater was on the floor. Is it all right...?"

"It's fine," Viggo murmurs. "You look good in my clothes."

All Sean's thought processes come to a screeching halt at that. He goes still and starts frantically sifting through what they might have talked about last night. _You didn't. Oh, Christ. Fuck._

"You all right there?" Viggo still hasn't moved, but now he's starting to wake up a little more, so he brings his hand up off the floor and pushes himself up so he's half-twisted on the couch and facing Sean again. "What's going on in your head there, Sean?"

"Nothing," Sean answers. He's grateful he didn't stutter it out and his voice didn't crack. "I wanted to thank you for letting me spend the night here. And get you back into your own bed if you want to be there."

Viggo only laughs, shaking his head. "No. I'm up now. Might as well _be_ up. C'mon." And he shoves himself up so he's sitting, legs crossed under him. "You feeling any better this morning?"

"Good except that I can't remember why I'm here." Sean gives Viggo half a smile. "I'm thinking I got pissed and you let me sleep it off here. Am I close?"

"Not... exactly." Viggo runs both hands through his hair and leans forward. "First you got pissed _off_. Then you got 'pissed', and I dragged you out of the bar before you could get yourself into a brawl."

"Fuck," Sean says, startled. He rubs at his eyes for a moment. "I don't have a hangover..."

"Well, that's something," Viggo offers with a grin. "What _do_ you remember?"

 _Flashes:_

Viggo pressed up against the side of his car and Sean shoving his hand down into Viggo's pocket for the keys. Viggo squirming away and putting a hand on the small of Sean's back. "You're not driving, Sean, so get in the goddamned car and deal with it. C'mon."

Sean stumbling through the front door and landing on a pile of papers that looked important. Viggo laughing it off and propelling Sean down the hall to his bedroom.

"C'mon, you stink of beer. Let me have that." Viggo peeling Sean's shirt off.

An odd look on Viggo's face after something Sean said. A gaping hole in memory where that part of the conversation ought to be.

"Don't remember much," Sean admits.

Viggo shrugs. "All right. You want breakfast?"

"No, wait." Sean clears his throat. "Did I... do anything? Say anything? Did something go _wrong_ , last night?"

"Sean." Viggo cups Sean's face in his hands -- an oddly intimate little action, but not so uncommon among actors, and certainly not from Viggo. "Relax," Viggo murmurs. "You didn't say anything I didn't want to hear." And he lets go so he can push himself off the couch and head for the kitchen.

Sean stares at him afterward, shaking his head. _Oh, that's no fucking help at all, is it,_ he thinks. It doesn't tell him what he said, or whether he can take whatever it was he did or didn't say back.

But then -- it does tell him that no matter what he said, Viggo's still his friend. Still willing to let Sean stay the night. Still willing to share breakfast with him. That, at least, is good.

"How do you feel about raisins?" Viggo calls from the kitchen.

"I'm in favor of raisins," Sean calls back. He gets to his feet and heads into the kitchen, where Viggo is making porridge. At least it's a familiar food. Sean wouldn't be half surprised if Viggo came out of the kitchen with something deeply disturbing, like homemade bran flakes on top of plain yogurt with a layer of goat cheese on the bottom. With salsa on the side.

Viggo. Insane, bare-chested Viggo, standing at the counter waiting for the microwave to finish heating up porridge, and Sean said something to him last night that made Viggo look at him oddly. Something that made Viggo cup Sean's face in his hands this morning and reassure him. Sean rests his hip against the counter and faces his friend. "Did I miss anything important, last night?" he asks quietly. "I'd hate to think you had things to say that I don't remember now."

Viggo pauses and looks at Sean. He doesn't even blink. "I said some things knowing full well you weren't going to remember them in the morning," he shrugs. "Nothing we won't get back to when we're ready."

Sean shifts in the sea of Viggo's sweater and nods. Those words meant something. That _we_ sounded like a foregone conclusion -- not just two names put together by virtue of a convenient plural pronoun, but a state of being. And Sean's certain now: they're dancing around it. Dancing around _something_. How is Sean going to be able to ignore that?

The microwave beeps obligingly, giving them something else to focus their attention on. Sean sighs and takes his bowl from Viggo. He sits down at the table, pushing aside more papers, magic markers, crayons. He glances up again as Viggo sits down across from him. "Thank you," Sean murmurs.

"Thank you, too."

Blue eyes meet green, and Sean holds his breath.

 _Sean. Relax. You didn't say anything I didn't want to hear._

It's going to be a hell of a conversation, as soon as Sean's ready to have it.


End file.
